Day 12: Ingleby Cross to Clay Bank Top

Weather: Squally showers driven by Westerley wind

Distance covered today: 20.4km (12.7mi)

Last night's B&B: The Blue Bell

% Complete: Cumulative distance:  81.2%:  256.1km

Total Ascent/Total Descent: 980m/806m

GPS satellite track of today's route: Day 12 (click!)

After yesterday’s testing leg, I had subconsciously been anticipating a rather easier experience today. Looking at the map, the leg seemed a reasonable 20km hop over the North York Moors which would take no more than about 4 to 5 hours. It took six and a half! I should have paid more attention to the guide-book!  When a guide-book writer summarises a leg with the words “An exhilarating switchback along the Cleveland Escarpment….”, I should have realised something was up!  The other clue that I missed is that this is where Mr Wainwright’s path coincides with a national trail, the Cleveland Way.  That should have raised the hairs on the back of my neck!

As the bemused long-term readers of this blog, if there be any, will know, I have a very old bone to pick with those murky and sadistic people who plot the national paths.  Even on Day 1 of this trip, I was accusing Mr Wainwright of being in cahoots with those fiends, who obviously take delight in sending us gullible travellers to the top of any hill in the vicinity only to plunge us to the bottom as soon as possible and, of course, as steeply as possible.  Their eyes must have shone with malicious mirth when they lighted on the North York Moors!  Suffice it to say that I am twice as exhausted as I was yesterday, having walked only two thirds of the distance.  I do though have to admit that the views were absolutely spectacular, and watching the rain squalls advance across the Yorkshire plain (The Vale of Mowbray) was fascinating, if a little uncomfortable when they came straight at me!

The other interesting thing about today, in common with yesterday, is that the hordes have disappeared.  I had grown so used to continuously catching up with the same people that I assumed that these delightful coincidences and the camaraderie that went with them would continue.  I passed two Canadian women that I hadn’t met before early in the day, and for the rest of the time I was on my own.  Right towards the end of the day, when I was busy trying to negotiate my way around or over the Wainstones, I met another Canadian called Mike. And that was it!  I had the Cleveland Way to myself!

In common with so many others, Mike looked disappointed when my response to his question about where I come from (“Cranleigh, near Guildford; south-west of London. It’s a village, though it calls itself the biggest village in Britain. I have no idea why!”).  Obviously, he and all his predecessors had noticed my peculiar accent and wanted a better explanation.  So then I have to get into the whole story about my South African origins, including my early years in Yorkshire, and it’s all a bit tedious. I should probably take elocution lessons to avoid all of this, but it is interesting that many strangers have an opinion, spoken or unspoken, about my heritage as a white South African émigré.  Mostly, of course, the opinions are unspoken, and invariably I prefer them to rest there.

The experience does however make me feel sensitive about the position of minorities and immigrants in particular.  During the recent election, the issue of “non-doms” was raised by just about all the parties, with everyone having a field-day at bashing them for not paying their fair share of taxes and generally living too high on the hog. The pols were falling over themselves to insist that they would bring these fiends to rights and rubbing their hands with the thought of what could be done with all that filthy lucre!

For most Brits, the word “non-dom” conjures up an image of plutocratically rich temporary residents from questionable origins, buying up properties in Mayfair for unmentionable sums and evading taxes wherever remotely possible.  This may well be true for some, but I suspect that the reality is very different for most.  I, of course, am a non-dom, and inevitably have a very different perspective on the issue.  In fact, when it first became clear that we would be staying in England permanently, I became aware that there would be certain advantages for me if I were to change my domicile to the UK.  I took advice on the subject, and the experts informed me that it would be very difficult for me to change my domicile.

They explained that in the past, Britons moving overseas had seen significant tax advantages in changing their domiciles to other countries, and so the UK authorities had extracted agreements from other countries making it very difficult for Brits to change their domicile.  Given the admirable principles of equality under the law, the quid-pro-quo was that it became very difficult for immigrants to the UK to change their domicile to the UK.  In my case, they told me there was no chance that I could change my domicile until all the requirements had been fulfilled and that would take many years, so “just keep quiet and pay your taxes”!

I wonder if there is one voter in a thousand who understands that the non-dom thing works both ways?  In fact it means very little to me financially, but the broader principle is actually quite important.  Even in a country like Britain, it is very easy for politicians to whip up sentiment against minorities for their own electoral reasons. Anyone who thinks that this country, or any other, is immune to the devastating prejudices of the twentieth century and their cataclysmic consequences is skating on very thin ice.

Pity the poor stranger who innocently askes me where I’m from!  They can have no idea that they are moments away from a veritable tirade on the issue of the human rights of minorities! I do love these walks!

Arncliffe Hall, seat of the Mauleverer family, companions of William the Conqueror

Up on the moors again, looking back at the Pennine Way. Is that Pen-y-ghent? 

Enough microwaves to fry my mobile phone, not to mention my brains! 

Industrial Middlesbrough at full zoom. I could just see the North Sea beyond.

Bluebells still at their zenith at these latitudes

Stone stairs on the Cleveland Way. Prepared pathways were almost ubiquitous

Over flatter sections, the stone stairs gave way to flagged paths

The flagged paths mean that the moorland flora is undamaged

Every shade of brown and grey

Those angry clouds are getting closer!  Time for full rain-gear!

The squall approaches

The moors contrast with the plains below

Looking down at the roofs of farms on the plains

The trig beacon on Carlton Bank accompanied by an ancient predecessor

The peak of the next moor. By now I was starting to realise that this torture would repeat!

Yet another moor peak ahead!

Wild horses between the peaks

That's the next peak. Good Grief!!

Finally, the Wainstones, peak of the last moor today

I've been contemplating this view for millennia and you're complaining?!

The day's profile, illustrating my pain!